


Faerie Lore

by astraplain



Series: Faerie Lore [1]
Category: Gorgeous Carat
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraplain/pseuds/astraplain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>young Florian knows the faeries would save his ill father, if only he could find them</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faerie Lore

"He's done it again, Ma'am." Pauline had a tight grip on Florian's arm and used it to drag the unrepentant six-year-old towards his mother. There was dirt on his hands and clothing and he was missing a sock.

"I see," Helene Rochefort looked and sounded as if she hadn't slept in days. It was no secret that her husband wasn't expected to see his next birthday and she was spending every possible moment at his bedside. She had no time for her only child's foolishness.

"I didn't lose my sock," Florian insisted before his mother could reprimand him. "I buried it in a faery ring. If they find it, they'll grant me a wish and I'll ask them to take us to Faerie and make Papa better." Florian pulled away from Pauline and crossed his arms, sticking his lower lip out in an extra show of stubbornness.

"Florian..." Helene trailed off, her attention on the swiftly approaching servant who'd been tending her husband. She turned back to Pauline distractedly. "Just... get him cleaned up and for goodness sake, watch the child. That's what I'm paying you for." She hurried away before Pauline could respond, not sparing even a moment to look at her son.

"Maman?" Florian called, all trace of stubbornness replaced by worry and hurt.

"Come along then," Pauline snapped, grabbing Florian's arm again. He went without protest, head lowered so he could see his feet and the one remaining sock. Tomorrow he'd look for another faery ring.  
+++++

It was mid-January and there was too much snow for Florian to play outside. Pauline had been dismissed along with two other servants, their wages needed to pay doctor's bills. Florian hadn't seen either of his parents since New Year's Day. Papa had looked like a stranger, pale and skeletal, but he'd smiled for his son and let Florian lay beside him and tell him about faeries.

Since then, Florian had been left to entertain himself. He made his bed and tidied his room since the chambermaid had been dismissed. He would have tidied Maman's room too, but she slept at Papa's bedside now, and Florian was too worried he might break something to try using the feather duster near her dressing table.

The first floor servants didn't like having him underfoot so sometimes he played hide and seek without them knowing, slipping from room to room as they worked, trying to stay ahead of them until he tired of the effort and snuck into Papa's study to read the books. Most of them were heavy and boring with too many words and no pictures, but there were a few slim volumes of poetry and some light fiction that Maman used to read. Florian had his own bookshelves in his room, but he'd read those books many times and was tired of all but the fairy tales.

Kelly worked in the kitchen with the cook and she loved to read. Sometimes she'd bring an old newspaper or magazine for Florian to borrow in exchange for his help with some of the simple kitchen chores. The cook didn't approve at first, but when Florian had stubbornly peeled an entire basket of potatoes to prove that he could handle a knife, she'd reluctantly given in. She'd grown used to his presence by now and set aside small treats for him.

When Florian arrived in the kitchen today, Kelly pointed to a pile of potatoes and told him that she had a surprise for him when he finished his task. Florian knelt on the bench, wiggling a little as he worked. A few minor slips of the knife had taught him not to hurry, so he worked carefully until the last potato was peeled. Kelly traded the full bowl for a copy of "Irish Monthly".

"Wash your hands first," she reminded him gently as Florian reached for the magazine. He hopped down from the bench, wincing at the pins and needles feeling in his legs from kneeling so long. He washed and dried his hands carefully before taking the magazine over to the small chair tucked into the corner beside cook's rocking chair.

"Page eight," Kelly told him, glancing up from where she was slicing potatoes. "There's a poem you might like."

Florian turned the pages cautiously, not wanting to wrinkle or tear them. He stopped on eight and scanned the text, gasping when the word 'faery'. He read the whole poem silently twice before reading the repeated section aloud:

Come away, O human child!  
To the waters and the wild  
With a faery, hand in hand,  
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

The words gave Florian a funny, shivery feeling that made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. He looked up at Kelly, eyes wide, wanting desperately to ask if he could keep this wonderful poem. She smiled kindly at him, knowing what he wanted before he could form the words.

"Sorry, lad. I borrowed that for you to read, but I have to give it back." She almost laughed at Florian's tragic expression. "Do you have any blank pages in that homework book your tutor gave you?"

"I do!" Florian's expression changed to excitement but he set the magazine down carefully before racing off to the little room that served as a classroom when they could afford a tutor. He was back in minutes, hair mussed, a notebook and pencil clutched in his hand.

It took nearly an hour of fierce concentration for him to copy the long poem. Each letter was block-printed with care, and the title and author were underlined heavily. When he was done, he asked Kelly to read it over for mistakes. Only after she gave her approval did he read the entire poem aloud, his voice strong and steady until he reached the final lines:

For he comes the human child  
To the waters and the wild  
With a faery, hand in hand  
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand

Three hours later he drew a heavy cloth over the mirror in his bedroom, tears blurring his vision. The sound of his mother weeping drowned out the rest of the world.

::end::  
**story features excerpts of the poem, The Stolen Child, by William Butler Yeats


End file.
